


Song For A Guilty Sadist

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And he should, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, wilbur feels guilty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wilbur has no idea when it got so bad; whenhegot so bad.Maybe he’s realized how fragile this platonic bond was too late, maybe he is a victim of an unlucky circumstance, or maybe he’s just fucked up.In any case, if he’s gonna pinpoint it to one place, he figures it was probably the weekend they first met up.---When Wilbur falls for Tommy with a guilty conscience
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 211
Kudos: 578
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Made sure to leave character tags out of this, so hopefully no one finds it who isn't looking for it.
> 
> As for the content, I know it can be upsetting so please do not read if you have any issues with it. I had a moral struggle while writing this myself and ultimately decided where I stand now. That isn't to say I wont change my mind and delete this fic later, but for the moment, I don't see any harm in posting this content and keeping it separate from the content creators mentioned. I do not condone these actions in real life, this is purely fictional. 
> 
> That being said, thank you for reading.

Wilbur has no idea when it got so bad; when _he_ got so bad. 

Maybe he’s realized how fragile this platonic bond was too late, maybe he is a victim of an unlucky circumstance, or maybe he’s just fucked up. 

In any case, if he’s gonna pinpoint it to one place, he figures it was probably the weekend they first met up. 

“You have to bring your dad,” Wilbur says, exasperated at this kid’s persistence. “That is the only way I’d agree to this.”

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding, c’mon Wil, I’m not a fucking child.” Tommy argues over their discord call. 

“You _are_ though, that’s why it’d be weird if you didn’t.” They’d been going at this back and forth for a few days on and off. It’s such a Tommy thing for him to think he’ll get his way if he just keeps pressing. 

Tommy sighs. “Fine. If that’s what it’s gonna take, I’ll bring fatherinnit. Won’t be fuckin’ happy about it, though.”

He’s too stubborn for his own good, Wilbur thinks, but at least he knows that Wilbur wont cave on any of his demands. 

“I’m gonna make a vlog like Georgenotfound,” Tommy cracks a joke. “And have thousands of people begging me to post it.”

It does force a laugh out of Wilbur. “Yeah? You’re going to lie about it, too?” 

“Even worse, I’m gonna post it as a 12 part series over the span of _months._ ” 

He finds himself smiling at Tommy’s stupid antics. 

The trip to Brighton isn’t far for Wilbur, his office is right next to where they plan to meet up, in fact. So meeting with Tommy and his other friends isn’t any struggle. 

The only struggle he encounters is he can't quite decide if Tommy is taller or shorter than he lets on. Don’t get him wrong, he’s tall for his age, but the kid’s chronic slouching makes him appear short; he compares him to a gremlin. 

Maybe, just maybe, his problem starts after Tommy and his friend break into his office while he is away. The gremlin child even started a stream on his computer, without his permission, on _his_ twitch account. Who can blame Wilbur if he isn’t thrilled. 

Not thrilled, but not surprised. Not until they walk away from the office together. 

Tommy slows down his walking pace to walk behind the group with Wilbur, and while their other friends converse, Tommy says something unexpected. 

“Hey, uh, were you actually mad back there?” 

Huh, it’s a little out of character for him to ask that. Sounds authentic, even. Wilbur bites even if he’s being baited. 

“Well, you did break into my office.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And shoot me with your ‘vlog gun’.”

“Well-”

“ _And_ stream on my computer.”

“OK! Jesus Christ, Wilbur, I get it.” Tommy groans. “Listen, you know me, doing stupid shit for content. But I’m sorry if I crossed a line, like genuinely, I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”

Wilbur dares a glance at Tommy, who looks frustrated, a little nervous even. For all his big talk, Tommy isn’t a bad kid, he would go as far as to consider him mature. In that moment it didn’t matter if Wilbur hated the feeling, it happened anyways, the usual strict tone in his voice softened. 

“It’s fine,” Wilbur accepts the apology. “Maybe it was a _little_ funny.”

“I fucking told you!” Tommy says after a moment of brief shock in Wilbur’s agreement. “Definitely putting that in the vlog.”

Against the odds, it makes Wilbur smile, again. 

And after that, there’s a new light to Tommy, like the very aura that surrounds him has shifted. In reality nothing has changed, but Wilbur just sees something that wasn’t there before. He sees less of an insufferable child and more of a young man with big dreams, putting in the effort and becoming more successful in the process. 

He calls it admiration. He’s wrong. 

He knows that he’s missed the mark once he’s on a call with Tommy after a stream. Long story short, the stream didn’t go well. Even when it was happening, Wilbur could tell something was up. Sure, Tommy could put up a front and fool his viewers, but Wilbur was a little harder to convince. 

So he asks, and gets a response he was, in all painful honesty, expecting. 

“Just wasn’t very pogchamp.”

“Yeah?” Wilbur hides his concern with a nonchalant voice. “Why’s that?”

“It just simply was not.” Tommy restates unhelpfully. 

Wilbur, for all his wisdom, isn’t quite sure what to say. Of course he’s not exactly down for prying to get Tommy to open up to him, but who’s to say he shouldn’t push a little?

“Something with the stream?” He presses. “Or...?”

“Big man’s got a lot on his mind right now.” Tommy gives way. 

“Hm? What’s he thinking about, then?” It feels strange, straying into something that seems personal. Tommy is far from an emotional person, that makes this conversation even fucking weirder.

“Things Wilbur Soot just couldn’t comprehend.” There it is, that’s more like Tommy. “No but really, I’m not trying to be a bother.”

“You aren’t.” Wilbur blurts. It’s fast and unfiltered, but it’s true. He backtracks, “I mean, you could call us friends, right? I don’t mind listening.”

The silence stretches, Wilbur feels...nervous? As if he’s pressed a very wrong button in this challenging process. He stays quiet. 

“Pff, friends, sounds more like you’re trying to be my _dad._ ” Tommy is the one backtracking now, distancing himself with his humor. “Sorry, but I’ve already got one, you met him for Christ’s sake.”

There is a second where Wilbur isn’t ready to be done with this conversation. He wants to know what’s on Tommy’s mind, he meant it when he said he wouldn’t mind listening. He _wants_ to listen, wants to help. 

But, he can’t bring himself to. He sees the signs and isn’t too keen on forcing Tommy to talk, god forbid he make him uncomfortable. Easing the tension is his best option. 

“Yeah, I sure have met Phil.” It feels like defeat.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it.” 

“Father Phil would tell you to get some sleep.” He says. “Past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

“Big mans don’t got bedtimes.” At the very least, Tommy seems cheerful enough to joke around, it’s not much of an improvement though. “They don’t listen to their dads either.” 

Wilbur hums thoughtfully. “Do they listen to their friends?” 

“...Sometimes,” Tommy decides. 

“Well, as your friend, get some fucking sleep, Tommy.”

Then Tommy laughs. A tired, almost flustered sound. Or maybe Wilbur is imagining it. 

“Yeah yeah, sure, _friend._ ” The insufferable child side of Tommy is making an appearance, it seems. “But, um,” Tommy pauses for a considerable amount of time, long enough to make Wilbur hold his breath. 

“Hm?” Wilbur prompts a response.

“Thanks for, er, offering? To talk to me that is. Just not feelin’ it tonight, but it’s appreciated, y’know?” Tommy’s voice does the thing it does when he’s embarrassed or shy; wavering in and out and said in a tone that might be considered joking.

Why does it make Wilbur’s heart stop?

“Yeah- yeah, no worries.” He responds quickly. “I meant it, so if you ever need to...”

“Heh, thanks, you too?” Tommy laughs nervously. “I mean, goes both ways and shit.” 

“Mhm,” Wilbur is god damned astonished. This cannot be the real Tommyinnit, surely. This can’t be the brat he makes content with regularly. Tommy isn’t even capable of being this, wholesome? He doesn’t like whatever it’s making him feel. “Now you should sleep, seriously.”

“Alright then, if you insist.” Tommy concedes. “Goodnight?” 

Wilbur doesn’t know why Tommy says it like a question, but he responds nonetheless. “Night, sleep well, Tommy.” 

When the call ends, Wilbur’s left staring at his computer screen for far too long; expression blank, gathering his thoughts. 

God, don’t tell him he’s growing fucking _fond_ of the kid. Enjoying his company is one thing but actively seeking it out? He even declared they were _friends._ Why does that sound so weird?

Probably because it _is_ weird. 

It’s a slippery slope from there. Because it really feels normal to call for just an hour more every other night, until he’s up all night listening to Tommy rant. It’s peaceful, comforting; things Wilbur knows it shouldn’t be. The sound of Tommy’s voice becomes a constant, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Tonight is the same, Tommy is going on and on about a topic Wilbur doesn’t care much for, simply just hearing his voice. The kid’s tone is never consistent, it shifts between too loud and too quiet, laughing in between his words; it sounds like a symphony, Wilbur compares. 

“Wil? Are you even listening?” Tommy catches his attention.

No, he wasn’t. “I got the gist,” 

“I don’t tell you my innermost thoughts so you can ‘get the gist’.” He pouts. “I’m clearly deserving of your undivided attention.” 

“So you just want attention?” Wilbur muses. 

“We’re youtubers, big man, isn’t that the point?”

“But you want _my_ attention.”

Tommy is quiet, and Wilbur rushes to full alertness. Wow, _wow_ he really said that, didn’t he? It didn’t sound strange being transferred from his thoughts and leaving his mouth, but now that the words hang around in the air it feels awkward. 

“This is a one on one conversation,” Tommy tries to sound unbothered. “So sure, you can say I want _your_ attention. Whatever feeds your ego, I guess.”

“Oh shut up,” Wilbur defends hastily. But he’s relieved that Tommy didn’t make it weirder or anything. “Go on, then, you have it.” He says, and truthfully, when doesn’t Tommy have his attention these days?

“Putting me on the spot then, are we?” He chuckles. “I was talking about how I’ve almost hit one mil on youtube.”

“Ah, as I’ve heard.” As he says this, he searches Tommy’s youtube page in his browser to see how far he is from his goal. He’s only 50k away and, at the rate his channel is growing, that’s nothing. 

“What can I say, the people love me.” Tommy brags. 

And it should annoy him. It always has, after all. The cocky, I’m-better-than-everyone attitude he’s found exhausting to deal with. But, for whatever reason, he really doesn’t mind it.

Wilbur knows it’s a front now. He’s gotten a few peeks under the shell of confidence Tommy surrounds himself in, and maybe that’s why it doesn’t piss him off like it used to. He breaks the silence;

“I’m proud of you.” 

The words leave sweetly, too honest. He regrets it. Not because he didn’t mean it, though. 

It lands on unprepared ears. “Y-Yeah? Proud?” Tommy stutters, a little baffled, confused. “Really?”

Tommy is... _pushing._ Almost like he wants to hear it again. Wilbur is instantly sold, he obliges. 

“Yeah,” He confirms. “It’s not easy to do, I know how hard you’re working.” His tone is soft. In the absence of Tommy’s response, he continues, “You should be proud of yourself, too.”

“Jeez, you fucking sap.” Tommy gives one short, forced laugh. “What’s gotten into you, Wil? You’re acting all soft and mushy, get some distance before it rubs off on me.” 

“Guess that was a little mushy.” He admits. He feels entranced. “It’s true though, I’m proud of you, sue me.”

“I will at this rate, gonna- gonna sue you for the damage of ruining my big man persona, my lawyer team will be in contact.” Tommy babbles fast, another trait Wilbur has picked up as meaning he is nervous. He inhales, then his speaking slows. “Thank you, though.”

It’s shy, and he can hear Tommy’s apprehensive excitement. “Of course,”

Despite himself, he smiles. He wonders when Tommy got so good at making him do that. 

The next week, when he’s alone with his thoughts, he concludes that he’s horrifyingly attached to this kid. Every phone call, recording session, when they edit together; he wants to know more about Tommy. Wilbur craves every soft moment they share, he’s desperate to experience it again. 

God, that makes him sound smitten, doesn’t it?

He’s not, and it was fucking weird of him to phrase it like that. 

Wilbur’s started watching Tommy’s vods when he’s not on call with him, or when he’s laying in bed trying to fall asleep. He wants to continue hearing his voice; maybe he’s grown to depend on it. 

Seeing his face while listening? That just adds a new level to it all. The expressions when he’s happy give him a similar feeling of joy. He wonders if Tommy looks this happy when he talks to him. 

The recording of Tommy pulls his hair back and says something about not seeing himself on OBS. Once he checks said software, he smiles and says _“Lookin’ good boys!”_ before going into his usual screaming laughter. 

Without his permission, his brain quips a _“Yeah, you are”_ in response. 

Then he freezes. 

What the fuck was that? Why did he think that so effortlessly? In an instant he goes from peaceful and happy to feeling disgusting all over, like his mind had betrayed him with such an intrusive thought. 

Wilbur remember’s reading somewhere that unwarranted thoughts like this are normal. That, instead of panicking over the first though he had, it’s the second thought that really reflects your feelings.

And Wilbur’s second thought is to instantly agree with the first one. 

Is that why he’s found himself closer to Tommy?

 _Gross_ , his mind offers, _gross gross gross._

Tommy is _sixteen_ , he reminds himself. Anything even bordering a romantic thought makes him want to vomit. He turns off his phone and turns on his back to face the ceiling. 

Over the next few days, the feelings eat him alive. He refuses to stay on calls with Tommy any longer than he has to, actively avoids him. When they do talk, he forces himself to sound bored; uninterested. It hurts, but this is better for the both of them. 

His efforts give him no consolation. Feelings of dreadful disgust worm their way into him, suffocating him until all that he can think about is how twisted of a person he is. 

Wilbur decides he needs to talk to someone. He hates that his first thought is Tommy. 

Conceding, he dials Phil’s number. The phone picks up on the first ring. 

“Wil?” Phil’s voice leaves the speaker of his phone. 

“Hi,” He wants to sob. 

“Glad you finally called, I’ve been trying to reach you for days now.” There is no annoyance or frustration in his voice, only a genuine concern that Wilbur knows he doesn’t deserve. 

“I’m...” How should he word it. “I’m going through some rough shit, Phil.” 

He can’t help himself, he starts crying. Ugly tears leave his eyes and his voice shakes, he does his best to contain himself. 

“Wil...” Phil murmurs sympathetically. “C’mon, talk to me. What's going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can, you can tell me anything. You know that.” He assures. 

In any other situation, those words would ring true. 

“I...” Wilbur has to word it carefully. “I want something I can’t have.”

It’s admitting it to himself at the same time he admits it to Phil. That’s probably why the tears fall, the internal struggle sinks its claws in deeper. 

“You’re making me feel like a priest here, Wil.” Phil comments gently. “What is it you want, then?” 

“It’s really bad, Phil.” Wilbur’s voice shakes on the words, threatening to break. He manages to add a laugh at the end, however broken it sounds. 

“Is it a thing?” A soft prod. “Or a person?”

God damnit, Phil always knows somehow, doesn’t he? He struggles to form a response. Unwilling to provide Phil with an answer, he asks another question:

“Am I a bad person?”

Phil is quiet for an antagonizing moment, Wilbur holds his breath. “No,” He finally answers. “If...if it’s something you know you can’t have, and you can recognize that, then that’s enough proof. You feel guilty over it, yeah? That means you know right from wrong. You’re not bad.” 

Wilbur simply sniffles as his tears flow; pathetic. He thinks Phil is wrong.

“I should go.” He prepares to end the call. 

“You’re welcome to stay. Talk to me all you need, this is clearly weighing on you.” Why does Phil have to be so kind to him?

“Thanks, but I just really need some sleep.” He hopes the excuse is believable. 

“Alright,” Phil says. “Talk to me soon, okay? Worried about you, man.”

He agrees and they say their goodbyes. If Wilbur cries himself to sleep that night, it’s what he deserves. 

Daylight breaks and seeps through Wilbur’s window. His eyes feel swollen and his throat is raw. Reaching over to his desk, he picks up his phone. 

He has two missed calls from Tommy. One from an hour after he got off the phone with Phil, and another in much later hours of the night. 

Against his better judgement, he texts Tommy. _“What do you want?”_

Then he puts his phone back down and proceeds to curl up on his bed and worry all over again. Maybe he should just cut ties with Tommy, seems like it's for the best at this point. 

That’s what he _should_ do, but it’s not what he _wants._

He wants to call Tommy again, talk about dumb shit just to hear him laugh. Wilbur misses just existing in the same space as the kid. 

Wilbur was right when he said he was smitten. 

He thinks halfway through a day of not checking his phone that Tommy must have texted him back. Even if that’s the case, Wilbur is committed to ignoring it. Maybe if he works on distancing himself now, in the future he can salvage his platonic friendship with him.

A few hours go by before Tommy calls Wilbur again. He declines. It rings once more. 

He’s proven himself again, Tommy is too stubborn for his own good. He declines. 

Wilbur doesn’t gather his feelings until much later, when the day finally bleeds back into night. He’s gathered himself enough to call Tommy. He rings him on discord. The call picks up fast, and he is met very aggressively. 

“ _Wilbur! Fuck you!_ ” Tommy yells. Wilbur pulls his headphones away from his ears at the sudden volume. “I’ve been calling you all fuckin’ day! What’s your fucking problem?!” 

He feels guilty. “It’s nothing, Tommy.”

“Nothing my ass, c’mon you can’t just ignore me all day, that's just fucking rude!” Tommy sounds infuriated. “Did _I_ do something? Is it my fault? You’ve always answered my calls before.”

Shit, this must be hard on Tommy too. Was it selfish of Wilbur? To want to cut himself out of his life? He hadn’t considered how it would affect Tommy. 

“It’s nothing I can talk to you about.” He corrects himself. 

“ _...Wow,_ ” Tommy spits. “I knew something was up, this is what I get for trying to help? Aren’t we friends or whatever?” Clearly he’s angry, but his tone is giving something else away too. He sounds sad. “Don’t treat me like I can’t comprehend your issues, I’m not a fucking _child._ ”

God, if only that were the case. 

He wants to refute it, but by now? He’s gotten way too soft on Tommy to continue this argument. However pitiful that is, Wilbur feels horrible when Tommy is upset with him

“You’re right.” He confesses. “It’s not fair to you, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“But,” He’s still not gonna talk about this with Tommy, he thinks of an excuse. “That doesn’t mean it’s not hypocritical of you. You don’t talk about what’s troubling you, either, so don’t just assume I will.”

He thinks that should do it. But then Tommy responds. “Well, if that’s how it's gonna be, let’s just be honest, then.” Tommy decides. “I’ll tell you my dumb feelings if you spill what the hell is wrong with you.”

“Tommy-”

“Gotta go, mum’s just said dinner’s ready.” And somehow that’s just the icing on the rotten cake, a horrible reminder that Tommy is still young enough to have his parents cooking for him. “But when I get back I expect some answers, big man.”

He can only contemplate it for a moment. “Alright.” At the end of the day, he’s not able to deny Tommy whatever he wants. 

So the minutes tick by like hours while he waits for Tommy to finish dinner. Wilbur’s thought of some excuses he can make to get out of it, or maybe just some lies he can tell Tommy to form a reason why he’s upset .

Perhaps he’ll just make his problem so vague that it’ll go over Tommy’s head. He probably won't be able to manage that though, the kid is smarter than he lets on. 

He also wonders what Tommy would tell him about, whatever he meant by “dumb feelings”. Of course he would hear him out, he wants to know more about him, that’s something he’s wanted since this whole mess started. 

That’s when Tommy calls him again. 

He picks up. 

“Hey,” Wilbur greets. “How was dinner?”

“You know I hate small talk.” Tommy replies, he sounds so much less angry with him. “It was fine.”

Silence settles, Wilbur lets it sit, hoping Tommy will break it first. When he doesn’t he finally speaks up.

“‘Dumb feelings’, yeah?” Wilbur asks. “Then ‘what the hell is wrong with me’.” Wilbur thinks at this point he could just supply Tommy with a list. 

“Yeah, ok.” They’re in agreement then. “But it’s stupid, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Tommy takes a breath, sounds like he struggles with his words for a moment, then finally says: “I have, like, a thing for someone. A crush, I guess.”

Oh.

Well, he wasn’t expecting that, he laughs. 

“Hey! Don’t fucking laugh! I’m putting my heart on display here, asshole.” Tommy is quick to defend himself. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Wilbur laughs more despite himself. “Caught me off guard is all.”

“Yeah, well, shut up.”

This is better, this feels normal. The casual banter he’s been yearning for and neglecting himself of. It seems so simple, he missed this. “Is it someone I know?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Tubbo?”

“God no. Please don’t start guessing.” Tommy laughs. “Me and Tubbo? Could you imagine? Fucking clingy bastard.”

“Tommy, everyone else is too old for you.” 

"Big Q and Sapnap are only 19.”

“Is it either of them?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then I wouldn’t call it a crush.” Wilbur tells him. “Maybe you just look up to them, wanna be like them or something like that.”

This might be a bad topic for Wilbur, but he’ll try to give advice either way. That’s what friends do, he supposes. 

“No, I’m like, in love and shit.” Tommy sounds convinced. 

“You’re too young to be in love,” He doubts. “What’s ‘love’ feel like, then, mr innit?” He’s curious what Tommy will say, but also is far too eager to stay on this topic instead of moving onto his own feelings. 

“Dunno, it’s like,” He can hear the gears turn in Tommy’s head. “It’s like you wanna be all nice to them.”

“Must be a rare feeling for you.” Wilbur cracks a joke at Tommy's naturally aggressive behavior. “What else?”

“Fuck off. It’s like... like you wanna give them flowers, or hold their hand...” Tommy pauses. “Be on call with them all day.” 

Wilbur’s heart races. “What? Call like we do?” The words feel dangerous. Probably because they are.

“...Something like that.” He answers, voice getting quieter. Wilbur turns up his volume, dead set on not missing a word Tommy says. 

“What else?” He asks again. 

“You, um,” Tommy’s voice cracks. “You wanna kiss them.”

Wilbur feels like his heart is gonna beat out of his chest. He’s going too far, at least he feels like he is. He’s treading on a line of something so fragile; if he’s not careful, he’s certainly going to fall. 

“Have you kissed anyone before?” It’s not the right thing to say, but he can’t stop himself. 

“N-no,” Tommy admits. “But I want to.”

He presses further. “I think you’d like it.”

“I’d be pretty shit at it, though.” He confesses with a nervous laugh. 

“You need someone to teach you?”

And that was the worst line yet. His intentions are clear now, ugly and selfish. He’s never hated himself more. Tommy’s response does not help in the slightest. 

“...I’m a fast learner.” 

Wilbur feels the bile rise in his throat, completely disgusted with himself, he thinks he’s gonna vomit. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy sounds so quiet, scared yet hopeful.

“I...” He almost gags. “I can’t, fuck, I have to go.”

“Wil-” Wilbur ends the call. 

_Fuck_

FUCK 

He’s sick to his stomach, his blood rushes through his body too fast as his heart goes into overdrive. He throws his computer on the ground, shoving it from where it rested on his desk. All the cords rip away, and Wilbur lowers his head to meet the table. 

The cold surface meets his burning skin and feels as if it sizzles. He doesn’t know why he notes that, he’s probably desperate to disconnect from what just happened. 

Phil was wrong, Wilbur is a bad person. He’s twisted and perverted in ways he couldn’t begin to defend. Tommy is a kid. A _kid_. And somehow Tommy had sounded like he loved him. 

Did Wilbur make him feel like that? Did Wilbur fuck up Tommy the same way he himself was fucked up?

It’s official, he can’t ever talk to Tommy again. 

But...he would cave, if Tommy asked him to. 

Wilbur smiles hopelessly. 

He spends the whole night in his bathroom, either throwing up or sobbing. 

He’s so fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

If Wilbur pays no mind to it, doesn’t let it take up any room in his thoughts, he can act like it never happened at all. 

_Wilbur? Why’d you end the call??_

He can pretend that Tommy’s texts aren’t lighting up his phone after what took place last night. 

_You didn’t do anything wrong_

Ignoring them, letting the notifications scroll by, it’s better. 

_For fucks sake man just text me back I’m telling you it’s fine_

And if the texts go on, and on, and on, he’ll simply convince himself that they don’t. 

Because why would he? Why give himself more reminders of how much of a monster he is? He knows deep down that he’s done something terrible, unredeemable. So why dwell on the painfully obvious?

Instead, he does what he’s good at; he picks up his guitar.

Wilbur lets the notes he plays replace the sound that he wishes were Tommy’s voice. It’s a poor substitution for what he truly craves, but, if nothing else, it makes the void less empty. His finger’s strum the strings in an off tune, and he sings along to the sour melody. 

His phone buzzes, crossing over the sound of his song. He expects to see Tommy’s name when his screen turns on, but he doesn’t. It’s Phil. The text reads:

_What happened with Tommy?_

Wilbur’s eyes scan the message, dreading the implications. If Phil already knows something was going on with him and Tommy, he could only imagine how much Tommy told him; he can only assume _what_ he had said. 

Phil would be disappointed. 

_A disagreement._

He lies. 

_Well, whatever it was, text him back, ok?_

_He’s worried about you and you should be there for him, you guys are like brothers._

Wilbur’s stomach absolutely _churns_ at Phil’s second text, a revolting wave of nausea washes over him. He sends a simple _‘okay’_ before hesitantly opening his chat with Tommy. 

Eyes avoiding the messages from last night, Wilbur decides on what he’ll tell Tommy. He types: _I’m sorry._ Then he backspaces. He tries again: _Did I make you uncomfortable?_ He deletes it. Finally, he creates a message he actually sends:

_I’m going offline for a few days, not your fault, just need to be alone._

The response is immediate, almost like Tommy had been waiting on their chat. 

_Don’t give me that bull_

_Just talk to me man don’t avoid me like the fucking plague_

Well, good to see Tommy’s still lively. Wilbur finds himself admiring that the kid’s personality doesn’t shift despite their situation, he’s still the same Tommy that he misses, then he figures he really shouldn’t let himself think that. 

_I know that you understand why I’m doing this Tommy, just give me a few days._

And that’s the best that Wilbur can offer him.

_Can we talk about this when you get back?_

Tommy’s reply makes Wilbur imagine how he would have said it if they had been talking over call. Would Tommy’s voice go all quiet like it had before? Sounding nervous but hopeful? Wilbur yearns. Then, another text from Tommy:

_Please?_

Who can blame Wilbur if he melts, if he caves. 

_We will, I promise._

Wilbur does a lot of thinking while the days pass, living them out inside his head. He searches his thoughts like a maze where the prize is reaching a conclusion. 

The only comfort he finds is that he’s never been like… _this._ These aren’t feelings that have lived within him his whole life, not growing nor festering. This is all very new.

With that comes the hope that, maybe, just maybe, he’s made up his mind too soon. After all, what’s a few intrusive thoughts compared to all the years Wilbur has been _good,_ hasn’t harbored such sick fantasies? Could he have been too quick to jump to conclusions?

Feelings are messy, easily misinterpreted. 

Tommy is a friend, or a coworker, or whatever he wants to call him, but he is nothing more. And if Wilbur can’t feel any truth in that statement, he’ll repeat it until it sticks. 

He’ll get better, he’ll be good again.

The only problem is he promised Tommy they would talk about what happened, and almost a week has passed since then. Wilbur can’t decide whether he wants to overthink it or just get it over with before he backs out, but he has to do it soon. 

Choosing the latter, he calls Tommy without a second thought. 

It rings once...twice…

“Hello?”

He doesn’t know how Tommy’s voice sounds so distant but still so familiar, he doesn't want to think about it either. 

“Hi,” Wilbur clears his throat. “Been awhile.”

“Yeah, too fucking long, what happened to ‘a few days’?” Tommy mocks Wilbur’s voice at the end. “Feelin’ a little misled, big man, gonna give me an explanation?”

Maybe he should have overthought first and prepared an excuse. “Got busy?” It’s not convincing. 

“Sure,” Tommy says doubtfully. “You should get ‘busy’ on the SMP then, we’re so behind in recording and the youtube algorithm is gonna kick my ass for it.”

The normalcy of Tommy’s words is the most relieving thing Wilbur has ever heard, he relaxes. But…

“You don’t...wanna talk about it?” Wilbur asks hesitantly. 

Tommy’s reply is delayed, like he was contemplating it. “No.”

“No?” Wilbur repeats. 

“No.” He confirms. “You know why? Because you’re acting all weird about it, and I’m sick of you ignoring me ‘cause you can’t get your shit together. So let’s just play minecraft, yeah?”

Tommy is...giving him a way out; a ‘let’s pretend it didn’t happen’. Sure, he might not have said it like that but that’s exactly what this is. He’s letting Wilbur move past it.

“Yeah, we- we can do that.” He can start over, this is his clean slate. 

“Then get your ass on the server!” It’s almost like Tommy’s smile can be heard. “I’ve decided I’m robbing people today. I’m low on resources, it’s for the greater good I swear.”

Wilbur can’t help a chuckle. “You could always go mining yourself, you know?”

“And waste my valuable time? I don’t think so.” Tommy disagrees. “If I don’t see a ‘Wilbur Soot has joined’ on my screen in the next minute, say goodbye to your iron.” 

“Oh you wouldn’t.” 

But he would, and he did. He didn’t put up much of a fight for it.

Being back online is so refreshing, Wilbur almost forgot what it felt like not to be stuck in his own head. However chaotic the SMP is, it’s calming, comparatively. 

More importantly, he’s back on good terms with Tommy. Not that things ever really got that bad outside of Wilbur’s thoughts. Tommy just has a way of making any tension dissipate, in his own clumsy, awkward way. He’s thankful for it. 

Wilbur concludes that he’d been too hard on himself, convincing himself that he was a monster. In reality, what had he really done wrong? Think one bad thought? Have a single embarrassing conversation with Tommy? Wilbur’s really been beating himself up over nothing, hasn’t he?

So routine goes back into routine. He’s never appreciated it more. 

A good portion of time is spent writing out scripts for the SMP, it’s distracting but still fulfilling; he’s always wanted to try out writing anyways. He makes Tommy heroic, it seems fitting, he’s also eager for Tommy to see what he’s written. He thinks Tommy would like it better if he were the hero. 

“Wil! This is fucking brilliant!” And he’s right. 

He’s gone back to calling Tommy somewhat regularly. However, he’s very careful, doesn’t linger on the call when he knows it’s getting too late. He won't make the same mistakes again. 

“Glad you think so,” Wilbur feels proud of his work, and even happier that Tommy enjoys it. “Got any favorite parts?”

“I am just so badass,” He sounds excited. “Wish I’d had become president, though.”

“I can change it.” Wilbur says far too quickly, very unfiltered. “I mean, if you think it’d work better.” 

Tommy laughs. “No no, it’s good, I like it how it is. Since when have you been good at writing?”

“Maybe it’s just natural.” He feels comfortable with a little bragging, Tommy’s sure making him feel like it’s deserved. “You like what I put for Schlatt?”

“Yeah! He had it comin’.” Tommy gets impossibly more thrilled. “I like all of it, genuinely, you did good.”

Wilbur’s growing a little bashful at the compliments, if he’s honest. He hadn’t been expecting so much praise for his script. 

“You really think so?” He’s smiling stupidly, pressing a little more for Tommy’s encouragement. 

“Hell yeah, I do.” Tommy indulges him. “Don’t let it get to your head or anything, your ego’s bad enough as it is.”

“Shut up.” He says, but there’s no malice. Quite the opposite, it’s filled by a very fuzzy feeling. Once he recognizes it, he’s very quick to shove it aside; he’s said it before, he won't make the same mistakes again.

There’s a balance to it, he finds. Figuring out the things he should and shouldn’t feel towards Tommy. Platonic affections are allowed to exist, he is able to be fond of Tommy, things of that matter. He does, however, have to catch himself mid-compliments towards the kid occasionally. They’re innocent enough, _“Your hair looks nice today”_ isn’t anything outside friendly. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

It ought to not make him nervous or flustered, but still it does. And that’s when he enters the things he should not feel. 

Attraction, romantic, loving. 

He is _not_ allowed to feel that. 

If he happens to, he’ll feel sick all over again. No matter where Wilbur decides to bury the feelings, they continue to rise from the dead and haunt him; summoned from something as simple as Tommy’s smile sometimes. 

Maybe some part of him comes to terms with thoughts; grows comfortable with the revolting desires he pushes away. They start to feel familiar, it’s terrifying. 

The only thing that Wilbur can do is keep it at bay. Never let it spread beyond the confines of his mind. It’s safe inside his head, although unwanted. He can keep it like this and never have to admit how disgusting he is. 

Then things start to feel strange again, just not in any way Wilbur expected. 

Wilbur is often the one who pulls away, especially recently. He leaves calls and stops streams early, whenever he is overwhelmed by his own twisted emotions. When Tommy starts to pull away however, it’s beyond unusual. 

“Well boys, it’s been a long day of committing crimes.” Tommy sounds like he’s wrapping up the live stream, but that can’t be right. 

“Indeed it has,” Wilbur agrees, a little confused. “But lots more crime to do, yeah? Maybe we’ll take it another level and try some arson.”

Tommy laughs. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, big man.”

There isn’t the normal, joyful tone that Tommy wears, the one he uses to convince the world he was carefree. A part of Wilbur misses the smile he’s grown too attached to, but a bigger part of him worries. The longer Tommy’s silence stretches, the more ill he grows with concern. 

“Who’s property will be the unfortunate victim, then?” He tries to stir Tommy into his cheerful persona. “Anyone wrong you lately?”

“Hmm, I mean, who _hasn’t_ wronged me lately.” Tommy sounds like he’s contemplating it. “That’ll have to be for the next stream though. You gonna be on for a while? I could raid you.”

“You’ve been on for hardly half an hour?” Wilbur says it like a question. “Not even a little invested in the premise of arson, very unlike you, Tommy.” He doesn’t want Tommy to leave, especially not so early. 

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled.” He doesn’t sound it. “It will have to wait, though.”

Situations like this had been happening fairly often, bordering the line of becoming frequent. Tommy’s streams were becoming shorter, less energetic. But all of these changes were so slight that no one who wasn’t paying excruciating attention wouldn’t notice. 

Wilbur doesn’t fight him any further on it, he ends his stream right after Tommy’s. He wants to call him over discord to make sure everything’s alright. It almost feels like a bad idea, after all, he’s been so careful to remain impersonal with the kid. But the thoughts of whether he should or shouldn’t can come after, he decides. Tommy’s wellbeing comes first.

The discord call rings for a long time, Wilbur thinks he might not even answer. Then, it picks up. 

“Why’re you calling?” 

It hardly sounds like Tommy, unusually quiet and void of emotion. “Should I not have?” He’s honestly unsure. 

“No, it’s fine.” Tommy assures. “Any reason, though?” 

“You ended your stream early.” Is the only answer Wilbur can supply. 

Tommy gives a dry laugh. “Almost sounds like you’re worried about me.”

“I am.” Wilbur says against what could be called his better judgement. “You’ve been acting off lately, what’s going on?” He runs another risk in admitting he’s been focused enough on Tommy to catch on to his behavior. In this case, it’s a chance he’s willing to take. 

“Oh, well,” Tommy seems a little taken by surprise, maybe because Wilbur had shown concern for him so openly. “Don’t worry about me, big mans can handle anything.”

It’s not unusual for Tommy to return back to his shell of false confidence in these situations. “Even big men need a shoulder to lean on sometimes, yeah?” Wilbur’s gotten good at breaking through that layer, though.

“I guess,” Tommy admits. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m all shoulder then.”

“You’re all fucking stupid, that’s what you are.” Tommy insults fondly. 

The words have got him smiling. Wilbur’s heart swells, uncomfortable and crowding in his chest. He wants to rip it out. 

Tommy’s wellbeing comes first. 

“You’re right, Wil.” He hears Tommy take a deep breath. “Still fuckin’ stupid, but right.”

“About what?”

“I, uh, have got something on my mind.” It’s not hard to tell that the kid sounds nervous. “Do you…um, you-”

Anxiety starts to settle in, the way Tommy seems so hesitant, it’s almost like he’s gonna bring up-

“Do you not like talking to me anymore?”

Tommy’s tone is abnormally fragile. Wilbur’s eyes widen at the question; it’s unexpected, but maybe it shouldn’t be. He hasn’t exactly been avoiding Tommy, just acting detached and neutral towards him. He’s figured it was safer that way, but if he’d known it made Tommy feel like that…

“Tommy-”

“Nevermind,” Tommy blurts quickly, a little loud. “It’s nothing, that was fuckin’ stupid of me, god, I probably sound super clingy- like Tubbo- just forget I said anything.” It’s complete word vomit leaving his mouth, seemingly damage control for his moment of vulnerability. “Can we end the call? Or go back to minecraft? Maybe just greatly change the topic?-”

“Tommy, I do,” He says slowly, it feels like thin ice. “I do still like talking to you.”

There’s a defeated sigh from the other end of the call. “This is dumb.” He talks about his emotions like he’s pulling teeth. “Then why don’t you ever call me anymore? I fucking...I wanna talk to you again like we used to, before you started acting all weird.”

_I miss you._

Wilbur has to bite down on his tongue to avoid the confession. “Me too.” 

“Then can’t we just go back to normal?”

‘Normal’ is risky. The word feels like a gateway to something Wilbur’s been trying to avoid. 

But when has he ever been able to deny Tommy?

“Yeah, we can.” Wilbur wishes it didn’t make him feel so happy. “I want to.”

In the days that follow, Wilbur does exactly what he said he would, he goes back to normal. As normal as he can make it. 

He calls Tommy more often, for starters. He takes uncertain steps towards being close to Tommy. It’s scaring him; this is where the slope began last time, this was how he fell. But this time it’s slower, probably because of how dubious Wilbur remains of his decision. 

Last time, Wilbur had jumped head first off a cliff, however, this feels like more of a steady climb.

It might lead to the same disaster either way. 

But for a long time, things get better. Calls between them become frequent. Sometimes Tommy calls with a lot on his mind, other times he has nothing to say; those calls just evolve into talking about random shit. 

It makes Wilbur happy to be closer to him, to just be good friends again, how it was before more complicated feelings got involved. And this is a pace that Wilbur’s more comfortable with. He’s able to grow accustomed to how he feels, and more importantly, be better at containing it.

Things get better until Wilbur makes what feels like the biggest fucking mistake of his life. 

It’s a high energy recording with Tommy, to say the least. They’ve been playfully at each other’s throats throughout the video, yelling and laughing. 

Tommy’s taken some of Wilbur’s supplies in the game, taunting him with the stolen items. 

“Whatcha gonna do about it, big man? Gonna kill me?” Tommy provokes.

“I would, don’t test me, Tommy.” He plays along with the bit. 

“Go on then,” Tommy pulls out another one of Wilbur’s items. “I’ll have fun fighting you with your own sword!” He declares before he starts swinging. 

Wilbur prepares to threaten him, but misspeaks in the most unfortunate way.

“Give me my stuff back or I’ll fucking kiss you.”

Silence. 

A single second of silence while Wilbur processes what he said. 

“You’ll wha-”

“ _Kill!_ Fuck, I meant _kill._ ”

Wilbur’s heart falls to the bottom of hell, racing all the way. He didn’t think he was even _capable_ of fucking up so bad. Tommy, as usual, is unhelpful.

“I mean if you want your stuff back that badly-” He’s acting like it’s just part of the joke.

“Shut up.” There’s genuine anger in his voice, not directed at Tommy, but entirely at himself. 

“Woah,” Tommy backtracks, not prepared for Wilbur’s sudden change in tone. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah? I knew what you were trying to say, no big deal.”

It feels as though some subconscious side of Wilbur decided to make an appearance. _Kiss._

Fuck, he knew it was a bad idea to get close again with Tommy. What other way could it have gone? Did he think his feelings would just leave? Fade without resistance? _Kiss- God fucking dammit._

“Wil?”

Wilbur turns off his computer, hand shaking on his way to the power button. He leans over his desk and puts his face in his hands. 

What is he even to do? It feels wrong to start ignoring Tommy again, after he knows very well how it affects him. But it feels even worse to keep engaging in these close encounters. One slip up and the dam crashes, spilling every ugly feeling and thought until they overflow. 

From his desk, his phone rings; it’s Tommy. 

He sighs, but still picks up.

“What-”

“Don’t fucking ‘what’ me, Wil, what the hell was that about?” Tommy cuts into his sentence, frustration evident. 

Wilbur feels on edge, he really doesn’t think it’s a good idea to talk to Tommy right now. “I’m gonna go for a bit, I’ll call you back.”

“Like hell you will. C’mon man, what’s your deal?” Tommy continues without taking a breath. “You’re gonna leave again then? Ignore me for weeks? Come back just to be fucking weird around me?”

“Tommy-”

“And over what? You messed up one word, Tubbo does that all the time, why’s it such a problem?” 

Wilbur wants to scream, he feels ashamed at himself. Embarrassed and disgusted and horrible. “You don't understand.”

“Don’t I?” He says it knowingly; the tone is terrifying to Wilbur. Tommy inhales for probably the first time in the conversation. “I _know,_ Wilbur.”

His heart drops to his stomach. Tommy continues speaking.

“I’m not fucking stupid. I know what’s going on, and I’m telling you it’s _fine._ I don’t fucking _care._ ” This is probably the most serious he’s heard Tommy speak. “So stop beating yourself up and let’s just be normal about it, okay?”

 _It’s not,_ he wants to say, _in what universe is any of this okay?_

It makes it all the worse that Tommy knows, Wilbur resists the urge to hit himself. He thought he had been so careful, had kept it contained. But if Tommy _knows_? What could that possibly be doing to him, the knowledge of Wilbur’s feelings? Had it left Tommy in a permanent state of discomfort when they talked? 

He can’t recover from this.

This could stick with Tommy for the rest of his life, and it’s all Wilbur’s fault. 

“You don’t know anything.” Wilbur spits pathetically. If anything, he wants Tommy to think that he’s wrong, hopefully leave somewhat of a good impression in his head because- 

He hangs up before Tommy can even get a word in. 

Wilbur doesn’t plan to call back, not ever. 

Slamming his head against his desk, he despairs. This has to end. Wilbur has to stop this. 

This is a hellish cycle he’s setting himself up for. If he tries to ignore his feelings again and be close to Tommy, something tells him he’s just going to keep coming back full circle. 

God, if he knew that Tommy was aware, this would have ended a long fucking time ago, the moment that the kid found out. He can’t even imagine what that feels like. Wilbur doesn’t want to even think about what he’s been putting Tommy through. 

His skin crawls in grotesque, painful shudders. Every corner of his mind is heavy. His body is full of television static, uncomfortably overwhelming until it consumes him. 

Throwing his head back onto his table once more, he passes out. 

The vile feeling remains when he comes to, it never truly left him. Wilbur sits up, the dim light of early dawn invading his office. He’s thankful he knocked himself out, it beats the alternative of staying up all night puking his guts out. 

Picking up his phone he sees countless messages from Tommy, some from Phil too. Maybe one or two more from other friends. He turns his phone off again without bothering to look at them. He drives home.

There’s an unsettling feeling of numbness that falls over him. Time passes the same as it always does, the sun rises the next morning, it feels like it’s trying to convince him anything can be normal again. 

It can’t. 

The numb feeling buries itself deep, attaches itself to him. Wilbur doesn’t think he’s truly processed what’s happened, maybe once it hits, this dead feeling will leave him. It could be replaced with unfathomable guilt and shame. He doesn’t know which would be worse. 

Three days have passed with Wilbur completely off the radar online. But, whatever’s happening in his personal life, he still has a job. He goes back to his office to bury himself in his work, it rains the entire drive there. 

And it keeps raining, harder than usual, it might even flood. 

He’s purposely editing videos that don’t have Tommy in them, desperate to keep that part of his mind on lockdown. That’s when he hears knocking on his door. Quickly, Wilbur combs his fingers through his hair while he stands up, he feels bad for whichever office staff is gonna have to see him like this. 

“Need something?-” Opening his door, he freezes.

He can’t believe his fucking eyes. 

Tommy stands in the doorframe, soaking wet from the rain and avoiding eye contact with Wilbur. 

Water rolls off the kids face in heavy drops, his hair sticks to his face and his drenched clothes cling to his body. 

“I’m cold.” Is all he says. 

Wilbur has to close his jaw, previously opened in shock. “How did-” He stutters in his confusion. “How did you get here?”

“Took a bus, walked a bit.” The kid shivers. “I have my ways.”

What is he supposed to say? He’s at a loss for words. 

Tommy fills the silence with a question. “Can I come in?”

Wilbur nods dumbly. 

“Thank god, it’s fucking freezing.” 

Tommy pushes his way inside, his cold skin brushes against him, a pang of pity hits him. Tommy sits himself down on Wilbur’s office chair and Wilbur doesn’t even care that the rainwater will ruin his seat. 

He can only watch as Tommy crosses his arms and rubs his hands against them to try and warm up, trembling as he does so. 

“I have a spare jacket.” Is all Wilbur can offer. “Under my desk, if you want it.”

The younger nods and begins to peel off his soaked shirt and Wilbur turns away as he does so, honestly not expecting it, but it made sense for him to do so. When he looks back he sees Tommy in his jacket, it’s so much larger than him that the kid almost drowns in it.

Wilbur’s heart aches. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He tells Tommy, but he’s unable to sound very strict. “You didn’t even know I would be at my office, you could’ve just had to head back home in the rain.”

“Well, good thing you were here then.” Tommy says nonchalantly. 

Tommy’s recklessness is really gonna get him in trouble someday. But Wilbur can’t bring himself to be mad, he only feels concern. “Why are you here?” he tries instead.

Finally, Tommy is able to look him in the eyes. “I was worried.” It’s said vaguely grudgingly, he bets Tommy would have been even more reluctant to say it if he weren’t too focused on trying not to freeze. 

“Why?” He presses. 

“ _Why?_ ” Tommy repeats, dumbfounded. “Are you an idiot? Nobody’s heard from you in _days._ I thought you killed yourself or something.”

Wilbur's considered it. “It’s not your responsibility to look after me.”

Tommy shrugs. “Well, sue me, I didn’t want you dead.”

 _You should,_ Wilbur thinks. 

Sighing, he eyes the puddle of water beneath his chair. Tommy’s gonna get a cold if he stays in these wet clothes. After how his heart melted seeing the kid in his jacket, it feels wrong to offer him more of his clothing. But it is arguably worse of him to let Tommy suffer. 

“There’s a closet down the hall where I keep props and stuff.” Wilbur turns to his door and opens it. “I’ll check if there’s any more clothes in there, just stay here.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Tommy’s voice gets quieter. “Thank you.”

Leaving the room that Tommy is in gives him a moment to gather his thoughts, he still struggles with it, his mind is all over the place. 

As he walks, he sees the wet tracks that Tommy has left on the hallway carpet from when he walked in. It’s a little amusing, he suppresses a smile. 

In his office closet, he doesn’t find anything Tommy can wear. He feels a little bad about it before he remembers that there was no way he could have predicted this. This whole situation is absurd, he could almost laugh. He heads back empty handed.

The first thing he sees when he enters his office is Tommy, still in his chair, holding his guitar. 

He walks with a little urgency closer to him as the door closes. “Hey, don’t get that thing wet.” He warns

“I’m not, ‘m not,” Tommy assures him. “Just looked cool and I wanted to see.”

There’s a less comfortable, fold out metal chair that sits against the wall. Wilbur takes it and sets it up besides Tommy, a good distance so he doesn’t impede on his space. 

“Wish I could make fun of you for playing guitar.” Tommy laughs. “But I play piano, so I don’t have any room to call you a music nerd.”

“It would be hypocritical of you,” Wilbur agrees, relaxing a bit. “What’s got you so fascinated with it?”

Tommy’s fingers rest against the strings, unmoving. “Dunno, kinda wanna play it?” He looks up at Wilbur like he’s asking for permission.

This whole situation is ridiculous. Everything from Tommy catching a bus all the way to his office to the fact that the both of them are avoiding any serious topics; almost like it’s a silent agreement. It’s all laughably insane.

But it feels awfully normal. 

“I can show you how.” Wilbur offers. 

“Pog!” Tommy cheers. “I’ve seen ‘em do it in the movies, Wil, they do it like-” Tommy’s entire hand rubs against the chords and creates a horrible screech of a tune. 

“Hey! Careful!” Wincing at the noise, Wilbur grabs Tommy’s wrist and pries it away from the strings. It’s a miracle that Tommy didn’t break any of them.

“Sorry, Sorry!” Tommy laughs and removes his hand without a fight. 

Wilbur, still holding his wrist, moves his hand over the chords again carefully. “Be more gentle, if you break my guitar I _will_ kick you out.”

“How threatening.” Tommy mutters, unconcerned. 

“Shush. Try again, just the tips of your fingers.” He instructs, unconsciously moving his chair closer to Tommy.

He nods and Wilbur can feel as his hand underneath his moves, hardly strumming with a tenderness Wilbur didn’t know Tommy could have. The sound it creates is smoother, better.

Tommy looks up at Wilbur, eyes bright. “Hear that? I’m a fuckin’ natural, Wilbur.”

Wilbur smiles warmly. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Oh, _shut up,_ ” Tommy groans in annoyance. “You’re just mad I have so much raw talent.” He playfully shoves Wilbur away. Wilbur doesn’t even know when he got close enough to push back at. 

“You say that and somehow _I’m_ the one with the big ego?” He shoves back at Tommy, hitting his shoulder with little force. 

Tommy just giggles at the impact and continues shoving at him. They play fight until Wilbur goes for the side of Tommy’s face, but realizes that he can’t hit as hard as he had been shoving him on his upper body. This thought makes his movement slow, the throw is so gentle that it’s more like his hand is resting on the side of his face.

It can be felt when Tommy freezes, his smile shifts slightly.

Oh. 

He’s holding Tommy’s face in his hand. 

It’s nice. 

Wilbur is too shocked at the action he’s made that he can’t even speak, he remains motionless. 

He can see Tommy’s face heat up. Then he relaxes, leans into his hand and stares at him expectantly, softly. 

Somehow his heart is racing and still managing to skip beats, hammering away in his chest. His rational thoughts fail to come through, he is acting purely on instinct when he uses his hand to tilt Tommy’s head upwards at him. 

He even leans in.

“Wil…”

Tommy’s voice snaps him out of the trance, his hand begins to slip. “I,” He can’t breath. “Tommy I am so sorry-”

The kid’s hand frantically reaches for Wilbur’s face and grabs it, mirroring what Wilbur had done to him but harsher, more urgent. 

Tommy holds him still and closes the distance. 

The soft and firm connection of their lips makes Wilbur so lightheaded he could pass out. It’s impossible to tell if his heart even still beats inside his chest. He might just be dying.

If he dies, he’s going to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got such a positive response so I decided to make a second part. But I'm still terrible at ending stories so I might continue it. Please let me know in the comments if you enjoyed and if this seems like a fitting ending or if you would want more!
> 
> Again, thank you for the supportive comments! They keep me going haha


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa y'all I am sorry this took so long to make, finals week really kicked my ass and gave me 0 time to write but I hope this chapter is good enough to make up for it, enjoy reading and happy holidays!!

Wilbur pulls away, unprepared for the sight that greets him. Eyes fluttering open, they land on Tommy's face, blushing red hot. When Tommy opens his own eyes, he doesn’t look directly at Wilbur. Instead, his vision dances around the room nervously. 

“You, uh,” Tommy’s voice cracks and he tilts his head upwards. “You said you would teach me?”

_What has he done…?_

He… he’s just kissed Tommy, that’s what he’s done. The boy in question stares at him with hopeful eyes, they are vulnerable all the same. 

The unspoken words between them crowd their space, begging to be said and heard- but Wilbur is speechless. 

“Wilbur…?” Tommy prompts.

“I’m-” _Horrible, unforgivable, sorry._ “I can’t believe I did that.”

The entrancement in Tommy’s gaze breaks, the moment they created along with it. Now it’s replaced by slight disbelief, maybe some anger. 

“Can’t believe _you_ did that? _I_ kissed _you._ ” Tommy inhales. “Before you say anything, Wil, just hear me out, okay?”

“Tommy I can’t-” Can’t go back to normal after this, can’t stay friends with him, _certainly_ can’t be anything more. These are all things he plans to say, but Tommy begins to speak before he can. 

“Please.” Tommy pleads, sounding reluctantly desperate. “Just- you know I’m not fuckin’ good at this. Please just listen to me.” 

The way Tommy asks him so sweetly tugs on his heart, dragging him towards a _‘yes’_ , but he can’t bring himself to say it, instead, he simply nods. 

At Wilbur’s hesitant agreement, Tommy visibly relaxes, exhaling and refocusing with new determination. It frightens him, how easily the kid could sway him with his words.

So Wilbur begins to focus as well, he’ll hear what Tommy has to say, but no matter what, he can’t confess his own feelings.

“Remember when I told you I had a thing for someone?” Tommy's voice is so small. 

He does, of course he remembers. How can Tommy ask him that as if every word he’s said to Wilbur doesn’t imprint itself in his skull? As if it would ever leave?

Having a feeling of where Tommy is going with this, he rushes to stop him. “Tommy-”

“Do you?” Tommy cuts him off, refusing to let Wilbur delay or disrupt the conversation, despite how hard he tries. 

Wilbur nods once more, faltering this time, becoming more uncertain in himself. Even nodding feels wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be allowing this. 

“It’s you.” Tommy tells him like he doesn’t know. Voice threatening to choke on emotion, he continues. “It’s you, Wilbur, it has been for a good while now, and I think you know that.”

Of course he does, in fact, he’s _painfully_ aware. Cursed with the knowledge that he’s so, _so_ close to being able to have Tommy; That the kid who shares his feelings is just barely out of his reach, and that he would never be able to grab him- to hold him- without shattering his moral boundaries into pieces. 

He knows Tommy can never be his. 

“I don’t…” For everything that Tommy feels, Wilbur can’t accept it. “No. _You_ don’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s Wilbur’s fault that Tommy is like this, it must be. Whether it’s because Wilbur didn’t shut him down when he should have- when he was still able to- or because his affections on the kid would inevitably spread and infect him as well, it’s clearly Wilbur’s fault. 

“Don’t I?” Tommy counters. “Are you gonna look me in the eye and try to tell me how _I_ feel? Because that’s pretty fucked up of you. I like you, Wilbur. Even if your skull is denser than a god damn rock, I really like you.”

Wilbur’s heart clenches, beating shallowly for Tommy’s confession as it pleads for him to continue, to somehow convince him, even if that would be impossible. His prayers are answered as Tommy keeps speaking. 

“I… I like the way you talk to me, or talk about me. I-I like how you laugh and smile,” Tommy’s nervousness spreads and makes itself known in the form of a blushing face and a bouncing leg. “I like how you make me feel.”

And Wilbur yearns, wants more than anything to believe him. “How- Tommy, how do I make you feel?” He presses gently. 

“You make me feel…” Tommy pauses, it looks as though he has a million words on the tip of his tongue. But at the same time, he seems troubled, like none of them will truly fit. “Fucking _weird._ ” 

Wilbur draws back at that, not entirely sure what _‘fucking weird’_ entails, or even if it’s negative or positive. Tommy appears to notice how he’s recoiled, and begins to speak quickly so that he can assure him of something. 

“Y- You make me happy, and- and warm.” The kid is barely getting the sentence out, stuttering all the way. Despite that, Tommy continues. “Do I make you feel like that…?” He sounds so careful, so fragile. 

“...You know that I _can’t-_ ” Wilbur’s voice breaks, forcing him to pause. “I can’t, Tommy.”

Surely Tommy knows as well as Wilbur that he is unable to return his feelings. But he does anyways, no matter how much he shouldn’t, how wrong or disgusting it makes him. 

“Because it’s ‘wrong’ of you?” He asks like he’s read Wilbur’s mind. “Even when I’m sitting right in front of you telling you that it’s okay? Even if I want you?”

Whoever gave Tommy the right to his thoughts, he wants it revoked. The kid is challenging him on all the things his mind has already plagued him with. The questions he struggles with enter the room though Tommy’s voice, they invade the space between them, cling to the walls and ceiling, all demanding an answer that Wilbur is thoroughly unable to provide. 

Wilbur shakily exhales. “I don’t know.” 

The way his chest grows tight is a testament to that, proof of his internal conflict in the purest form. He wants so bad for this situation to feel right, but every word he says sounds like a sin. He can’t face Tommy and instead eyes the floor.

“Wilbur,” Tommy murmurs to get his attention. It works, he looks back up. “Whatever you think this makes you, it isn’t true. You're not a bad person, you aren’t a monster. You’re just… in a difficult and weird situation, that’s all this is, yeah? Please, can’t you just trust me?”

He’s never wanted anything more. Briefly allowing the forbidden thoughts into his head, Wilbur pictures them. He imagines how Tommy would feel in his arms, how he would keep him safe. They could watch movies and go on dates together, hold hands on walks, kiss again. 

The vision fades, and he’s left looking at Tommy’s nervous gaze. The kid waits for his own confession.

“Tommy…”

Wilbur can’t give him one. 

“...I’m taking you back home.”

He’s forced to watch how Tommy’s eyes widen in disbelief. Even worse, he witnesses how the expression shifts into something else, something more painful to Wilbur. 

Tommy looks heartbroken. 

“Wh… what?” His eyes go glossy.

Wilbur fights the instinct to comfort him, he has to be stern. “You heard me,” He forces out. “I’m sorry.”

The kid clenches his jaw and chews on the inside of his cheek. Wilbur thinks he might be resisting the tears that want to fall. Then, Tommy shakes his head. “No.”

Wilbur wants to say he wasn’t expecting the refusal, but it is Tommy, after all. “No?”

“I just put my heart on my fucking _sleeve,_ Wil, I’m not leaving until you at least tell me how you feel.” Tommy forces the wetness in his eyes to fade. “You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

Wilbur knows he is absolutely not joking about his threat to throw a tantrum. And that isn’t even the worst thing.

The worst thing is that Wilbur knows that Tommy deserves an explanation at the least. It’s unfair of him to spill his deepest feelings and receive nothing in return.

Maybe… maybe if Wilbur is careful, he can tell Tommy in a vague enough way that it doesn’t cement more guilt in him. 

He can try. 

But not until he’s had time to gather his thoughts. 

“Once I take you home, I can call you and we can talk about it, I promise.” He offers. “I just need time to think.”

Tommy is quiet for a moment as he considers it. Wilbur knows that this isn’t exactly preferable to Tommy, but perhaps he’ll allow it anyways. 

“You always say that.” He sighs as he gives in. “You better make good on that promise, Wilbur. Or else I’ll bus my way right back to your office.”

They agree, Wilbur leads Tommy outside to his car, the rain pouring on them during the short walk there. 

The car ride begins quiet and tense, Tommy sits in the passenger seat, half of his clothes still dripping wet. The kid stares out the window while Wilbur drives, eyes glued to the droplets of rain as they hit the glass and slide down in messy lines. 

However, it isn’t long into the trip when Tommy falls asleep, head leaning against the same window. It only makes sense, after the journey he’s taken to Wilbur’s office, that would tire anyone out. And so, Wilbur drives as quiet as possible, hoping that Tommy rests peacefully. 

Wilbur, on the other hand, is doing a pretty good job of delaying his oncoming breakdown. Hands gripping the steering wheel, he does his best to distract himself from the current situation. Right now, he just needs to get Tommy home safe, he can spare the dumb feelings for later. 

It doesn’t take that much time to arrive at Tommy’s house, though it is dark when they get there. 

Now, Wilbur is tasked with waking the kid up, he unbuckles his own seat belt and turns in his seat. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand up to push at Tommy’s shoulder. “C’mon, we’re here.” 

Tommy makes no movement, pliant as Wilbur gently shoves him. The car is dark, the only thing that illuminates Tommy’s face is the moonlight from the sky, and Wilbur really, _really_ wants to stay like this. 

How he wants to wrap his arms around the kid, hold him while he rests, selfishly keep him here overnight or even just drive him back to his office.

The thoughts, which have become achingly familiar to him, should be terrifying. But they aren’t, they are warm and soft. And the lack of horror is what really scares him. 

What happened to Tommy being just some annoying kid he made videos with?

Sighing, Wilbur suppresses his imagination and shoves Tommy with a little more force. “Tommy, get up.” 

The blonds eyes blink open, groggy and sleepy, before looking at Wilbur, widening a little. “Hey there,” Tommy smiles the slightest bit. “Any way I can convince you to just lemme sleep longer?” He mumbles. 

Honestly, he probably could, Wilbur doesn’t want him to try in case he does. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your bed?” 

Shaking his head, still out of it in his post-nap state, Tommy denies. “I’d rather sleep with you.”

Wilbur nearly chokes on the air he breathes and Tommy quickly realizes his mistake. “N- no! I meant- fuck- you know what I meant, don’t make it weird.” Tommy wakes up some more.

He would almost find it funny but this situation is way too mortifying to find any humor in. Instead, Wilbur just coughs awkwardly and doesn’t comment too much on Tommy’s mistake. “It’s- it’s fine. Anyway, we’re here.”

Leaning upwards from his seat, Tommy looks out the window at his house. He looks back at Wilbur before opening his door. A sad look on his face, he asks him a question. “Promise you’ll still call?”

Wilbur nods. “Promise.”

Tommy smiles dubiously. “Yeah, alright, thank you. I…” His voice trails off. “I- uh… I’ll talk to you tomorrow then?”

It’s a little sooner than Wilbur would’ve liked, but he agrees nonetheless. “Mhm,”

“Right, well, see you later.” Tommy gets out of the car. “Thanks for the guitar lesson.” He smirks. 

_Guitar lesson, Christ, the nerve of this kid._

Goodbyes over with, Wilbur makes his way home. Once he’s arrived, the weight of the situation truly begins to set in, and hell is it _crushing._

The things he had said and done, even the things he thought, completely irredeemable. Why- _How_ was Tommy so alright with it, so willing? Everything the kid had done had made it incredibly hard to resist, creating a steep uphill battle where Wilbur had to fight against every advancement. 

Tommy likes him. 

Not unexpected, Wilbur certainly had predicted it. But the heartfelt way Tommy had confessed? That was what threw him off entirely. Tommy is anything but soft, he is rough and tattered, uneven, sharp edges; Hotheaded, to say the least. 

But you would have never guessed that had you heard the words he said to Wilbur. Even as he remembers them, repeating them in his mind, they melt him. 

_“Y- You make me happy, and- and warm.”_

Wilbur lays down and throws his face into his pillow, he tries to block it out, but he can hear Tommy so vividly. Feeling his face heat up, he wants to push the memory so far down that it never dares to resurface. 

He hates the effect it has on him. It’s too well known, too loud in his head. 

_“Do I make you feel like that…?”_

He does. 

He wishes he didn’t. 

Another question arises, where is Wilbur supposed to go from here? His original plan to cut ties with Tommy, it’s looking pretty unlikely after he already promised to call him.

Unfortunately, Wilbur is incredibly malleable under the kids voice, he fears he’ll be easy to persuade no matter what Tommy wants or how wrong it is. 

_“Even when I’m sitting right in front of you telling you that it’s okay? Even if I want you?”_

Frustrated at how he can’t find an answer, he throws his pillow away from his face and picks up his phone. Wilbur scrolls through his contacts until he finds Phils name. 

A second opinion couldn’t hurt. 

The dial tone plays as he calls Phil, but it hardly makes it through the first ring before the call picks up. 

“Wilbur! Mate, where have you _been?_ ” Phil’s concerned voice falls on his ear. It’s at this point Wilbur remembers how he hasn’t been online in a long while, ignoring everybody. It had been over a week since he messaged Phil. 

Venting probably won't make for the most graceful of returns, but he’s already here. He might as well. 

“I’ve been...um,” Fuck, he can’t even think of anything to say. “Busy?” 

“Busy scarin’ the shit outta me, that’s what you’ve been doing.” Phil sighs. “You’re gonna need a better excuse than that, Wil.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He apologizes before wondering yet again what he should tell Phil. “I… can I talk to you?”

“‘Course you can, I’d appreciate that.” His voice softens. “C’mon, tell me what’s going on.”

Obviously, he can’t tell Phil exactly what’s troubling him, working out a way to rephrase it is the best option. That’s what he did last time as well. 

“I made a mistake.” He confesses. 

Phil chuckles. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I- I know but,” He pauses. “It’s bad… really bad.”

“Well, you’re not giving me much to go on here.” It must be a struggle to help assure Wilbur when he doesn’t even know what's happening is. “But I don’t think it could be that bad.”

“It _is_ -”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself, yeah?” 

And now Wilbur is growing frustrated at how he is unable to convey the seriousness of the situation. Phil is treating this like a small mishap when really it’s been tearing him apart. “You don’t understand, Phil.”

“I’m not gonna be able to unless you tell me.” Phil says to him, it shouldn’t infuriate Wilbur the way it does. It’s not Phil’s fault, but he wishes he could describe the weight of the situation to him without actually telling him. “But you clearly don’t want to, so all I can say is that I don’t think it could possibly be that-”

“I kissed Tommy.”

Immediately, Wilbur’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth, as if he can stop the words he said from reaching Phil’s ears. _Fuck!_ What was he thinking?! It just slipped without his permission, desperate to have Phil understand him and stop treating this so lightly.

He can’t take it back now. 

Phil doesn’t say anything, the call is quiet until he laughs. He laughs. “Almost had me there, Wil, gonna tell me what actually happened now?”

He’s speechless. Phil doesn’t… believe him. 

In the absence of Wilbur’s response, Phil is silent as well. The longer neither of them speak, the further the tension stretches; narrowing until it grows thin, waiting to snap. Then, Phil begins to speak.

“You…” Wilbur braces himself. “You aren’t kidding?”

There isn’t anything he can say, he doesn’t want to speak, to confess what he’s done. However, his silence is just as much as a confirmation. Wilbur waits for the yelling, for the disbelief, for any sort of outburst.

“Wilbur, _why?_ ” Is all he gets. 

_Why,_ why is a good question. It’s all he’s been asking himself. _Why_ does he feel like this? _Why_ does Tommy reciprocate? _Why_ can’t he stop himself no matter how hard he tries?

Wilbur begins to break down, he’s already been breathing fast and shallowly, not allowing his lungs enough air. The lack of oxygen sends his body into a further panic, his heart beats wildly and he thinks he’ll either throw up or cry. But, he’s already told Phil, nothing’s stopping him from continuing. 

“I don’t- I don’t _know._ ” The dam breaks. “He’s just- I’ve been trying so, _so_ hard Phil- but he wanted me to. I shouldn’t have, I know, I’m so fucking-”

“Wilbur…”

“And it’s been going on for _months_ and I just can’t leave- I’ve tried to every time- and it’s _my_ fault because _I’m_ the adult and _I_ should stop it but-” The word vomit continues as Wilbur struggles to steady himself, to calm down. “But every time I’m around him I just feel- he makes me happy and I care about him and I want to take care of him but, it’s so bad, it’s so wrong and I hate myself so much.”

Somewhere along the way, Wilbur’s begun to cry. His face feels too hot and he just spirals and spirals with no end in sight; No ground floor in this hell. 

“Wilbur, _breathe._ ”

Wilbur hiccups on another sob, automatically, he tries to listen to Phil’s advice. Shakily, he inhales, feeling his chest heave with the effort. “I- I’m sorry-”

“I need you to calm down, Wil, then tell me what the hell happened.” Phil tells him sternly. 

Taking another moment to contain himself, Wilbur begins to explain. “I went offline because I couldn’t keep talking to Tommy,” he starts. “Not with- not with how I feel, I couldn’t. But he came over to my office and…”

“And you kissed him?”

He might break again. “I did.”

“You can’t…” He pauses “How could you do that? That isn’t- that’s not right-”

“ _I know._ ” 

“Do you know what you’re doing to the kid, Wil? He’s too young, you’re- Wilbur, this is seriously gonna mess him up.” Phil lectures, the disbelief never left his voice. 

“He said he feels the same way-”

“Don’t fucking say that.” Wilbur’s heart stops at Phil’s anger. “You’re confusing him, don’t make excuses for yourself.”

And Phil is right. Wilbur’s confusing Tommy, giving him signals that what they’ve been doing is okay by not shutting him down. Wilbur is the one letting this continue. It’s _his_ fault. 

That being said, if he stays on this call any longer it might just kill him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says before he hangs up. 

Putting his phone down beside him, he feels the tears dry on his face, his heart recovering from the irregular beats. It leaves him feeling empty and ruined. He expects Phil to ask him why he left. 

Phil never texts him. 

Instead, Wilbur is left alone with his thoughts again, eating away at him until only his bones remain. It’s such a contrast from his previous feelings, how he had been floating on a cloud, head replaying Tommy’s confession, and now he sits in the same hollow darkness he was before, where he belongs. 

The feeling sinks deeper when he thinks of how Phil will never look at him the same, might never look at him again. Wilbur’s lost a friend over this, and he’ll probably lose a lot more. 

Every thought is heavy. He fights the weight and pulls himself out of bed to his fridge, where he finds a bottle and proceeds to pour himself too much alcohol. 

Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll drink himself to death. 

Unfortunately, Wilbur wakes up the next morning. On his kitchen floor, rather than his bed, nonetheless. His body is sore and aches with every movement he makes in an attempt to stand to his feet. 

Events from the night before are fuzzy. When he manages to find his way back to his bed, he checks his phone and sees new messages. They’re from Tommy. 

_Hey don’t forget we’re talking and shit today_

_You promised_

Even if he feels no one could fault him if he were to break this promise, he can’t do that to Tommy, he won't. Wilbur texts him back:

_I know, whenever you’re ready._

He hopes it’s not soon. Actually, he’d rather it be never. 

_Tonight?_

Tommy asks him. 

_I can do that._

Once he’s agreed, the conversation ends. While Wilbur takes another moment to look through his phone he finds that Phil hasn’t messaged him back since last night. His grief grows as he imagines Phil never contacting him again. But the damage has been done, it’s not like he can take it back. 

Maybe it’s better that he heard what he did from Phil, he wants to believe that the man’s words will help redirect him, that they might adjust his morals. But he fears they won't, he’s fallen too far.

There’s no recovering from this. He texts Phil:

_Do you hate me?_

And he gets no response. 

He thinks he knows the answer. 

As the day melts into night, Wilbur can’t say that he’s been ‘thinking’, because a steady flow of _'Tell Tommy no'_ running through his head can hardly qualify as a thought.

The drinks from last night form a sour pit in his stomach, but he’s unable to call that his excuse for not eating, he knows his appetite has simply been ruined by anxiety. 

Rightfully so, it seems. The conversation he’s supposed to have soon with Tommy will center around him, around his feelings, and he has no idea what to say. 

Does he confess it all, making no attempt to fix what is already clearly broken inside of him? Or should he cling to a reality where he is a better person, not twisted like his current situation would suggest?

All the time in the world wouldn’t be enough to choose the right option. 

Not that he has that time anyways, the next thing he knows, Tommy is calling him. He picks up.

“Hey, ” Tommy greets. “Finally get your shit together?”

Far from it. “I think so.”

“Fuckin’ took you long enough.” Tommy sounds excited. “Lay it on me then, big man.”

Tommy’s cheerful attitude contrasts how he’s been feeling. It's incredible that he can still make Wilbur smile, in spite of everything. He’s really fallen, hasn’t he? “What do you want me to say?”

“How you feel,” Tommy answers. “I thought I made that pretty obvious.”

“About you.” Wilbur is asking, but he doesn’t say it like a question, more looking for confirmation.

“Yep. Could’ve sworn we went over this.”

Wilbur is stalling, he knows it and Tommy will catch on too if he gives the kid enough time. He can’t do this forever, there is no good way out of this situation, he just needs to face it head on; he needs to stop lying to himself and just _say it_.

“You tear me apart, Tommy.” he confesses.

“I… what?”

“I can’t even talk to you without questioning if I’m a good person.” The feelings detach themselves from his chest, being brought out into the open, ugly and vulnerable. 

Tommy pouts. “How many times do I have to say it? You aren’t bad Wil, this doesn’t make you bad.”

 _Doesn’t it?_

“I don’t think I could live with myself if I let this keep happening; if I told you how you make me feel.”

“I want to know.” Tommy ignores him. “Hell, at the very least, I _deserve_ to know.”

This. This is his breaking point. The last bit of a fight he can put up is torn down by Tommy. The kid wants to know? Well, since when has Wilbur been one to deny him. 

“You wanna know how I feel about you?” He starts. “I crave you. I want to be around you whenever I can, listen to you talk and make you laugh. I want you in all the ways I shouldn’t. That’s why you tear me apart.”

He spills his guts, he opens every mental wound he’s inflicted on himself. It’s as terrifying as it is freeing. Future regrets aside, he pushes through. “I like you, Tommy.”

Wilbur's been fighting a losing battle all along, hasn't he?

Tommy is quiet on the other end, taking in the words. Wilbur wonders how they make him feel. 

“I… well, that’s good, I- I like you too.” He can imagine Tommy’s face, blushing and nervous as he speaks uncertainty, shedding his normal, overwhelming confidence. 

“You don’t.” Wilbur tells him. “You just think you do, and that’s my fault.”

“No-”

“Yes.” Wilbur cuts him off. “I’ve hurt you enough, Tommy. I told you how I felt, but that still doesn’t make this okay. You deserve better, so I’ll be going-”

“W- Wait!” Tommy near shouts. “Can- Let me prove it to you.”

It catches Wilbur off guard. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Of course it is.” Tommy denies. “We don’t have to call this anything, I hate that label shit anyways. But just give me a chance?” 

“Tommy-”

“Please?” Tommy ignores him. “You- you don’t have to kiss me again, or tell me that you like me, we can just let things be normal. If it makes you feel any better, we don’t have to do anything until you think I’m old enough for you to stop feeling guilty.”

He hasn’t really… considered that. It still feels wrong. “I think you’re too impatient for that.” He challenges.

“Let me prove you wrong.”

Wilbur’s heart flutters weakly. The kid is really determined and Wilbur can’t understand why. What does Tommy see in him? What is there to make him keep pressing and pressing and pressing until Wilbur gives in? 

“It will just be normal?” He asks. 

“Y- Yeah! We don’t have to like, ‘date’ or anything.” Tommy says date quietly, like it’s a bad word. “I just don’t- I don’t wanna fucking lose you.”

A few months ago, Wilbur could have never imagined Tommy saying this to him. He’s never been emotional or outwardly so caring. Over such a short span of time, he’s witnessed sides to Tommy he would have thought never existed. 

“And you’ll leave whenever you want, whenever you feel uncomfortable?”

He just has to make sure, he has to hear Tommy say it.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be, but if it makes you feel better, then sure. I swear.” Tommy assures. “A- and some goes for you. As long as you just give it a shot first.”

Tommy sounds happy, still shocked that Wilbur is going along with this, but happy nonetheless. That’s all Wilbur’s wanted, to see Tommy smiling. 

The concepts that would have once torn him apart, that even still do, somehow make him smile as well. It’s still very much up for debate, whether or not this is the right thing to do. He doesn’t know where any of this will lead, if it's possible for him to maintain, but…

“I think I can do that.”

If it makes them both happy, can’t he at least try?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is finally the last chapter and I hoped you enjoyed!! I've decided to make an account in order to write more stuff like this that I wouldn't want on my main account. So if you liked this, check out the stuff I'll be posting on my alt! Username is "HT_Anon" and I will leave a comment under that account so it's easier to find.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and please tell me your thoughts in the comments!! :DD

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind in comments, you don't know what other's are going through .


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